Felicitas jumped the steps into the recess, and was going to hold her frozen feet to the furnace, when she recollected herself, and coming back to the swing-door which led into the greenhouse itself, she called the gardener's name through the darkness. There was no response, only the sound of water dropping from leaf to leaf in the hot, moist atmosphere.
"Now we are quite safe," she laughed, and skipped down the steps again, sighing with contentment at the warm glow.
The cloak slipped from her shoulders, and as she reclined against the steps, her figure in the blue morning gown was revealed in soft lines against the white fur. The firelight flickered on her fair hair and cast a shimmer like a purple veil over the rounded face, which wore the childlike pathetic expression habitual to it when in repose, and when she was feeling particularly comfortable.
"Why do you stand there looking like an old owl?" she said with a laugh, throwing her head back in order to see him better.
Leo, who was leaning against a pile of faggots, lost in thought, replied--
"It's a pity that that fur doesn't grow on your body, then you would be the image of Elly's white Persian cat."
"Don't you think that you have said enough disagreeable things to me, my friend. I show you affection, and nothing but affection, but you insist on behaving like a surly dog."
"Cat and dog, in fact."
"Leave off making stupid jokes and come and sit down."
He did as he was bidden, and seated himself on the edge of the furnace, so that he could look down on her outstretched form.